A Very Good Actress
by kstewdeux
Summary: In a time when the new Bolshevik government was intent to destroying the last remnants of the tsarist empire, Anya had to learn to hide who she was in order to survive. Her grandmother had been right about one thing. She was a very good actress.
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

* * *

It was early still. As the sun filtered through the stained glass window casting multicolored rays of light across the wooden floorboards casting multicolored hues, Anya sighed happily and adjusted herself more comfortably in Dimitri's embrace. After years of hiding and lies, she was finally safe and had never felt more so than in the arms of the man she loved.

At first, Anya had been more than a little concerned to tell him the truth about her past. She worried that he'd be angry or turn on her but, much to her pleasant surprise, he merely shrugged and told her he understood…that he wouldn't have trusted someone like him from the get go either.

" _Not like I didn't lie to you_ ," Dimitri had laughed, " _It's just how things had to be for us since they came for your family. At least you had a damn good reason_. _What's my excuse?_ "

It was almost funny but that night when they were reunited, her grandmother had been right about one thing. She _was_ a very good actress.


	2. Rasputin

_**Rasputin**_

* * *

"Would you like a match good sir?" Anastasia timidly asked as she approached yet another potential customer, "They're only…"

"Get away from me you street urchin," the man scoffed as he knocked the match out of her hand, snapping it in two before storming away as he muttered under his breath. Anastasia sighed dejectedly as she bent down to pick up the remnants of her livelihood. It had only been six months since her family had been taken from the palace yet in that time she had come to learn a great many things….starvation being amongst the most prevalent in her mind. The second most prevalent was _fear_.

The rumors about Rasputin spread through St. Petersburg like wildfire in the wake of his ' _demise'_ and the downfall of the tsar.

They called him the man who could not be killed.

A prostitute had supposedly attempted to murder him a few years earlier by running him clean through with a knife. As his guts spilled onto the ground, the woman had crowed proudly that she had managed to kill the 'antichrist' – something that Anya truly believed now that the idea had been put into her mind – yet somehow Rasputin managed to survive.

Within a few years – during which time filthy rumors about her mother were apparently also spread like wildfire – hatred for Rasputin had grown exponentially. So much so that apparently a few members of the royal family had attempted to have him killed – whether it was under her father's orders or not was unclear. They had laced his food with enough cyanide to kill five men yet he had allegedly acted like it didn't affect him in the slightest. They beat him mercilessly and shot him multiple times yet he still managed to hold on. Finally, frustrated beyond measure by the man who simply refused to die, they tossed him into the freezing Neva river. They had supposedly found his body, done an _autopsy_ even, and yet…and yet…

One thing was clear. While he may have fallen through the ice that fateful day, there was no doubt in Anastasia's mind that he had survived. He would make good on his threat if it was the last thing he ever did.

 _"_ _If I am killed by common men, you and your children will rule Russia for centuries to come; if I am killed by one of your stock, you and your family will be killed by the Russian people!"_


	3. Tsar Nicholas II

**_Tsar Nicholas II_**

* * *

If there was one thing for which Anastasia was grateful, it was that she had been wise enough to trade in her clothing for peasant's garb and food early on. Contrary to what she had been told her entire life, it became clear that everyone hated them.

 _Truly_ hated them.

During the people's first attempt at revolution, during a time when the world war had not even been a possibility, her father had turned to a radical method of crushing the would be usurpers. Machine guns. All the protestors – for that is what they truly were – were unarmed and yet her father had pulled out the heavy artillery. He had even gunned down the protestors who supported him leaving those carrying his portrait to demonstrate their support bloodied and dying in the street. That was one of the first strikes against him but _oh_ , had she heard about the others.

His marriage to her mother was widely looked down upon. Even her grandmother in England had believed that she was too unstable to be a successor to the throne – or so they said. There were so many things people said about her. Unkind things that Anastasia suspected were untrue but…anymore she wasn't quite sure. They said she had an affair with Rasputin – something that made the young girl's skin crawl. The people said she was paranoid and obsessed with mysticism. They blamed her for Alexi's illness – stating it wasn't an illness at all but something conjured up by her unstable mind. Just another strike against the tsar and his family.

Her father and mother relied heavily on Rasputin. Amongst the common people, his notorious sexual promiscuity and love of vodka was almost legend. Even before he turned on them, it should've been plain as day that her family's belief that he was a holy man was woefully misguided. Just another strike.

Her father had apparently introduced reforms then revoked them, appointed inexperienced family members to positions they weren't qualified to have, refused land reform….the list of grievances went on and on…

They _hated_ her.

 _Nowhere_ was safe in this land of enemies.

But perhaps one day...when enough time had passed...she could make it to Paris...

And then she would be safe.


	4. Cheka

**_Cheka_**

* * *

 _"All power to the soviets!"_

She chanted along with the crowds. She'd be a fool not to after all if she acted the least bit displeased. Cheka was always watching, ready to crush any ' _counterrevolutionaries_.' Their duty of ' _extinguishing the resistance of exploiters_ ' led to mysterious disappearances of anyone who spoke ill of Lenin or the Bolsheviks. They had been assigned the task of liquidating those who they saw as a threat…which most certainly would've included _her_.

As she sat huddled amongst a group around the radio, they listened to the telegram issued by Cheka to all Soviets with a petition to immediately organize emergency commissions to combat counter-revolution, sabotage and speculation of anyone who may be considered a threat. She _had_ noticed recently that there had been a few strange faces following her about town.

"You there! I need your identification!" a man barked as he grabbed her arm. Wildly looking about, her heart sank into her stomach when she saw realized no one was going to help her. Turning terrified eyes up at the burly looking man, her mind raced trying to come up with an explanation for her lack of documents – any reason at all – when it suddenly clicked.

"I…I don't remember who I am," she whispered shakily, "I woke up on the train tracks about a year ago. I've been wandering around since trying to stay alive."

"You don't know where your family is then," the man's voice asked, slightly softer, his eyes filled with understanding and pity as he gave the soiled and emaciated girl a once over , "I'm sure they're looking for you. What's your name? Maybe they've made a report."

Nodding numbly, Anastasia swallowed thickly and took the man's outstretched hand before taking a deep breath and answering thickly, "Anya. My name is Anya."


	5. Besprizornye

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia.

* * *

 **Besprizornye**

 **The "Unattended"**

* * *

Anya learned early on that it was better to be besprizornye than it was to be labeled as an "enemy of the people." The orphanage was a terrible enough place in its own right without the added beatings and starvation that so many of those whose parents had been labeled as traitors suffered at the hands of the orphanage staff. Their general attitude was that the apple never fell far from the tree. Any misbehavior was understood as the product of a counter-revolutionary upbringing, and punished harshly. They were treated as budding criminals and were often forced to prove their loyalty to the Communist state. If you were unfortunate enough to be labeled this way and you continued to act out, they sent you to a labor camp to be "re-educated".

Other than the general atmosphere of fear, all the children took on chores and made administrative decisions. For a young girl who had lived with a silver spoon in her mouth, chores were a challenge and she often stayed out of the administrative decision making process. It began quite clear to her that her level of education would bring unwanted attention to herself. She stuck firmly with Russian – never daring to speak in French or English. She acted confused whenever she saw other children being confused. She did everything in her power to fit in.

Much of the staff at the orphanage had her eyes on Anya from the get go. Never truly believing that she was merely one of the unattended. Always watching for any proof that she was something other than a child left alone as a result of famine. When Anya first arrived, she made the mistake of stating she must have had family in Paris and showed the comrade in charge her necklace. A necklace that was clearly personalized out of encrusted jade and the finest gold. Immediately regretting her actions when the comrade narrowed her eyes and frowned, Anya had been terrified that she too would be labeled an "enemy of the state". It seemed that despite her ability to survive this far, she had all but sold herself out. Yet, _strangely_ , the comrade never said anything to the authorities and only spoke of the necklace when they were alone. The woman in charge also managed to stamp out the theories many of the staff were purporting that she was the missing princess. In a way, Anya suspected that the comrade in charge knew who she was and was trying to protect her.

Either that or she didn't tolerate gossip.

Who knew, really?


	6. Death of Tsar Nicholas II

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia.

* * *

Death of Tsar Nicholas II

* * *

Anya could've written a million letters, each one the same as the last in sentiment and cadence. They would stay the same, only the word arrangement changes. It all boiled down to one thing….she missed them. Despite the knowledge that her ability to escape the bolshievik's grasp, in her heart she wanted _nothing_ more than to have been with her family on that fateful day. She _should've_ been there beside them. The continuation of the Romanov line meant absolutely nothing to her. _Nothing_. All she wanted, all she would ever want for as long as she may live was to be reunited with her family once more – whether in death or in Paris. Ultimately, no one would ever be able to tell her if that wish was selfish or not and even if it was, to hell with the rest of the world and their opinions. She _missed_ them. _Terribly_.

She wished she had been there to comfort her siblings and parents as they were woken at two in the morning to get dressed and head down into that basement where those lying men with guns awaited them. How those traitors bragged about how easy it was to mislead them into believing the house was under attack. Instead, her family should have been much more afraid of the firing squad waiting to pick them off one by one. Supposedly her sisters had sewn jewels into their dresses in case they were forced to evacuate or whether the offer of asylum was offered by the British government once more. Those heartless bastards had revoked their offer mere months before citing diplomatic reasons – as though they didn't know the terrible fate that awaited her family, as though their lives were a small price to pay for keeping the peace.

Instead all her sisters had managed to perpetuate was the story of a regime that was more concerned about themselves than their people. Maybe the revolutionaries had a point. The more Anya saw, the more she understood the people's anger. Still – no matter their faults – those that had been mowed down like cattle were her family. Her mother. Her father. Her brother. Her sisters. And all anyone around her could do was smile in pure joy….so she forced herself to do so as well and keep her grief hidden deep inside.


	7. Letters & God

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia. And Yeah this letter be real. Look it up.

* * *

Letters & God

* * *

" _My dear, precious, only friend_ ," Anya had once written back when she was woefully ignorant to the ways of the world," _How much I should like to see you again. You appeared to me today in a dream. I am always asking Mama when you will come. I think of you always, my dear, because you are so good to me."_

He had been her confidant. A fatherly figure to whom she could tell her deepest and darkest secrets. A man to lead her on her spiritual path. She'd write him letters whilst he traveled on business for her father. They all did. And he would write back letters with kind sentiments and pretty words. Oh, how empty those telegrams seemed now. Now that he'd betrayed them all. One in particular stuck in her mind despite it being almost ten years ago now.

 _"Love the whole of God's nature, the whole of His creation in particular this earth. The Mother of God was always occupied with flowers and needlework."_

Ah yes, he always had loved to play the 'holy' man. To pretend that his greatest mission in life was serving _God_. To impart his religious wisdom onto them with those pretty little verses, those small prayers. Well thanks to his curse, God was _dead_ in Russia. In truth, as much as she'd love to blame him for state atheism, Rasputin using God to ingratiate himself into her father's court most likely had as much to do with it as water had in the creation of fire. Twisting history was something she wanted no part of. Enough of that was going on as it was.


	8. USSR

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia.

* * *

 **USSR**

* * *

" _The_ _Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. Not even Russia any longer,_ " Anya thought with a heavy sigh. Literally everything she'd ever known was being chipped away brick by brick and this was the final nail in the coffin so to speak. Not that it impacted her all that much, she just heard the rumors of what was going on around her. Anyone with any wealth was having their land stripped away from them. Food was scarce. A great famine was sweeping through the land as though God himself was trying to punish Russia...no the U.S.S.R. for their treachery. There had been a rebellion against this new regime not too long ago. Peasants had risen up. The very people who'd been so supportive of those traitors who ripped her family from their home couldn't even stand for what was happening to their country. It was crushed ruthlessly of course. Anything this new government did was ruthless. War communism they called it and it was very true. They took on capitalism as though it were the enemy. They seemed to be being more lax after the Kornstadt rebellion though. Apparently they didn't want to lose the support of the majority of their people.

It had only been a few years and yet so much had changed. With each passing day, it seemed like there was an even fainter chance that she'd ever be with her family in Paris again.


	9. Civil War

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia.

Please if you like this story, review! I'd love feedback. Thanks.

* * *

 **Civil War**

* * *

Civil War has been raging since those traitors took power. The Red Army, the White Army, the Green Army. Whatever color they associate, one thing is true. We all bleed the same color. And millions upon millions have died. _Millions_. Every day more children arrive because their parents have been killed. Each day I listen to the workers whisper about how many of their friends or acquaintances have died for one cause or another. Everything in whispers because children repeat everything and no one wants to bring wrath down upon their heads. And now so many areas are wanting independence from their mother country that so callously ripped my family apart. What I'd always known has been lost. Everything I've _ever_ known is changing before my very eyes due to the actions of a few men in the name of the greater good. And yet, whether new countries are formed or not…there is only one place I'll ever feel safe and the one place I'll never see.


	10. Death of Vladimir Lenin

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: I do not own Anastasia.

Please if you like this story, review! I'd love feedback. Thanks.

* * *

 **Death of Vladimir Lenin**

* * *

In the beginning, Anya never paid that much attention to the Bolshevik leader. She knew enough to keep her mouth shut and pretend to support the regime but the first assassination attempt completely went unacknowledged in her mind. A woman had shot him, been captured and subsequently executed. Yet there was only room in her mind at the time to focus on surviving day to day. Now that she felt somewhat secure in her environment, however, that was changing. The grand leader had suffered from not one, but two strokes. He'd _retired_ and it was that fact that made Anya take a more keen interest in his involvement in her family's demise. Adults were all too willing to tell her of his involvement. How he had been the leader of the masses that had stolen her family and her life away from her. There was little to look forward to anymore. As the years passed by, she merely went through the motions - her bitterness and anger harnessed into a rapier wit and heavy sarcasm that was tolerated, just barely, by the mistress overseeing the children. Eventually, she'd leave. Probably to go work in a factory like all the others and eventually fade into legend. She'd heard the rumors. People knew she was alive or, at least, they hoped she was alive. Like there would ever be enough support were she to come forward to lead a revolution. That part of her died the day those bastards invaded her home and ripped her family away. She was no princess. Not any longer.

It wasn't until she'd heard that the man responsible for the downfall of the Romanov line was bedridden did she allow herself to wander down that painful dream once more. If he wasn't there...if he was no longer in power, it might be possible to...to...

No, it was far too risky. To get to Paris would require capital she didn't have and the way the state was run, her true identity may be discovered. It wasn't worth the risk. She needed to live. But maybe...just maybe, if she got a sign. Perhaps if he died.

And then he did die. That bastard finally died. Only to have a much more savage bastard take over when he did. And so she gave up. For the moment. After all, she wasn't even sure her grandmother was still alive. It might merely be a rumor put out to finally trap the last of the Romanov line. But maybe one day, she'd get the sign she'd been looking for.


End file.
